


Silver in our lungs

by purple_cube



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-09 12:12:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_cube/pseuds/purple_cube
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martha has to admit that this Director Fury makes SHIELD sound very tempting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silver in our lungs

 

As the front door clicks shut behind her, Martha tenses. Everything in the hallway is exactly as she left it; the carefully balanced golf umbrella, the jacket on the coat rack that hangs at just the right angle to show the bottom corner of the logo. And yet, there’s the smallest draught of wind that makes its way down the stairs and swirls around her shoulders. She knows that there are no windows open upstairs, and all of the doors should be closed.  
  
She reaches into her open bag for her gun, a souvenir more than a weapon up until now, courtesy of her employers. Sure, she’s wielded it when she’s had to, held it high and steady for all to see, but she’s never had to pull the trigger. Not when it mattered.  
  
 _And it matters now_ , she realises as the faintest of shadows paints the wall at the top of the stairs.  
  
“Come out where I can see you,” she calls out, voice held as strongly as her gun as she unclicks the safety catch. The shadow darkens before giving way to a sturdy figure as he makes his way down the stairs, hands held knowingly at his sides. Her gaze drifts upward, taking in the tight black trousers, the t-shirt that’s cut to maximise the exposure of the biceps that flex even now, and finally, the crossbow and quiver slung over one shoulder.  
  
When he gets to the final step, he stops and grins. “Hi, Martha.” His tone is friendly, and for once it’s hard for her to accurately place its level of sincerity.  
  
“Well, you already know my name, so how about you tell me yours?” she asks evenly, arms still locked to hold the gun level with his chest.  
  
“Barton, Clint Barton.” And then he snickers to himself. “Sorry, I gotta stop doing the whole James Bond thing, but I can’t help it. Don’t even realise I’m doing it now.”  
  
She looks pointedly at his shoulder. “I hate to break it to you, but the British secret service has come a long way since medieval times.” He has the humility to look sheepish, and it gives her the encouragement to continue. “So, Clint Barton, do you want to tell me why you’re here?”  
  
He nods, his mood sobering quickly. “I’m here to offer you a job. Or more specifically, I’m here to take you to my boss, since he’s the one who can offer you a job.”  
  
“I have a job,” she states carefully.  
  
“Sure you do. You have your fake one at Guy’s and St. Thomas’ hospital that you diligently clock in and out of every morning and evening, and you have your real one at UNIT, fighting bad guys and keeping the planet safe.”  
  
Her grip on the gun tightens. “How do you know that?”  
  
His only response is a knowing tap of the side of his nose. Slowly, she lowers the gun.  
  
“This is a strictly legitimate business offer,” he tells her. “All you have to do is come with me and listen to what the Director has to say. If you don’t like the sound of it, you can leave and get on with your life here. If you _do_ like what he says, well, then you and I can get to know each other better.” He gives her that easy smile again, skin wrinkling around the eyes, and she has to admit that he’s certainly the friendliest man to ever break into her house.  
  
She flips the safety catch back on and slips the gun back in her bag.  
  
“Okay, Mr. Barton. I’ll bite.”  
  
His grin widens. “Great.” He gestures behind her as he continues. “We can catch our ride from the street. It seems pretty quiet out there right now.”  
  
She waits for him to move around her and open the door himself, still not quite willing to turn her back on him. Slowly, she follows him onto the street, stopping next to him as he looks up at the night sky.  
  
“Our ride?” she reminds him.  
  
“Yeah, we have an aircraft up there,” he replies casually, his eyes fixed on an unknown spot in the sky above them.  
  
“Are they going to beam us up?” she asks curiously, only half-joking.  
  
He turns to her and grins. “Not exactly.”  
  
Her eyes bulge as a flash of red and grey and yellow soars towards them, before stopping abruptly inches from her. Her mind takes a few moments to transform the blur into an image of a tall, blonde man wearing what looks like Batman’s suit and Superman’s cape to her. _Oh, and he’s carrying a hammer_ , she thinks, adding it to her mental list of medieval weaponry that this company that wants to hire her seem to favour.  
  
“Martha Jones, Thor,” Barton begins. “Thor, Martha Jones.”  
  
The giant bows his head. “Martha Jones, it is an honour.”  
  
 _Thor_. Her attention drifts back to his weapon. “So that means that that’s...” Her voice trails away under the weight of her deduction.  
  
A faint voice registers next to her, and she realises that it’s coming from Barton’s earpiece. The man himself shakes his head and speaks up. “Yeah, yeah, he has a hammer. The Director’s getting antsy, so if you don’t mind?” He gestures at the aforementioned weapon.  
  
Thor nods, and before she can register what’s happening, Martha finds his strong arm gripping her waist, Barton holding onto his other side and the hammer pointed upward. In the next second, they’re _flying_ , and she fails miserably at pretending that she does this all the time as she catches Barton grinning at her.  
  
 _Well, this seems vaguely familiar_ , she thinks as she finds her feet again on what she can only describe as an aircraft carrier. _In the sky_. She tries to swallow down the feeling of unease that always surfaces when she remembers the _Valiant_.  
  
Once inside, the surroundings seem like the tactical and political powerhouse of a small country to her. There are people, lots of people, talking to each other and into their headsets, and there are large screens and a hell of a lot of computers.  
  
And then a man wearing an eye-patch and a long leather coat approaches, the knowing smile on his face not quite fitting the rest of his appearance. He holds out his hand for her. “Miss Jones, I’m Nick Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.”  
  
She shakes his offered hand briefly before turning to Barton. “S.H.I.E.L.D?”  
  
He tries to stifle the urge to roll his eyes, but doesn’t quite manage it. “It stands for Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division,” he says as if it’s the thousandth time he’s had to answer that question.  
  
“Okaaay.” She turns her attention back to Fury. “And what does S.H.I.E.L.D. want with me?”  
  
He nods to Barton, and Martha watches him retreat before returning her gaze to the Director.  
  
“Let’s walk and talk, Miss Jones. That way, you’ll get to see more of what we have to offer in the short time you’re able to be with us.” She follows as he leads them away from the busy hub of activity and down a much quieter corridor.  
  
“I take it that you heard about what happened in New York earlier this year?” he begins.  
  
“I heard some things,” she admits. “But, I’m not sure how much of it I believe.”  
  
He turns to her then, regarding her carefully. “Believe _all_ of it,” he tells her. “You’re not a naïve person, Miss Jones. You know what exists out there, beyond this world, as well as I do. All I’m asking for now is that you have a little more faith in what we as a planet can offer.”  
  
They turn a corner and the door in front of them slides open automatically. They walk through before he continues. “UNIT is powerful, for sure, but at the end of the day their resources are limited. They’re little more than an elite military unit. S.H.I.E.L.D. is...a little different,” he says in a measured voice.  
  
They come to the end of the corridor. In front of them is a large glass panel that allows them to see into a gym-like room on the other side. There are various bits of equipment that she recognises and a lot that she doesn’t, and what look like obstacle courses set up. She watches as a redheaded woman not much taller or older than herself lets loose on a punch bag.  
  
“Our organisation is largely made up of highly skilled, military-trained personnel. However, where we differ from the likes of UNIT is that we place a heavy weight on the importance of intelligence.”  
  
He pauses, and his next sentence seems to come out more reluctantly. “Additionally, some of our personnel are what the media calls _superheroes_.”  
  
She watches as a man in a red suit - _Ironman_ , the British tabloids had named him – holds his palm up and an energy burst seems to fly out of the middle. A freestanding brick wall on the opposite side of the room explodes, and he turns his head away from the debris that showers over him and several others in the room. Next to her, the Director shakes his head as he mutters something about banning weapons testing on board a flying helicarrier.  
  
She wants to ask where Fury’s superheroes were during the year that never was, when it was just her and the power of her word. When she didn’t think that she would make it out alive, when even now she sometimes wakes and thinks that it’s her bed that’s the dream and the stench of human decay that’s real.  
  
But it doesn’t matter really, not now. All that matters is that there is someone out there to stop the next one, the next time that the Doctor isn’t here. That was why she had joined UNIT, and that was why she followed Barton here.  
  
Fury turns his attention to her once more, taking a deep breath before giving her his final pitch. “You know what’s out there, Miss Jones, and you know that as ordinary human beings, we’re struggling to keep our head above water against these threats. S.H.I.E.L.D. aims to level the playing field by recruiting the brightest, the strongest, the bravest.”  
  
“And which am I, Mr. Fury?” she asks quietly.  
  
He smiles, and she thinks that either S.H.I.E.L.D. are really good at recruiting the world’s best liars, or Fury and Barton really do like what they’ve heard about her. “I believe that you have it in you to be all three, Miss Jones.”  
  
Her mouth twitches, and eventually she relents to give him a smile. “Let me think about it.”

 


End file.
